


Less Time Than You Think

by apliddell



Category: Fleabag (TV), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Casual Sex, Comedy, Crossover, F/M, Grief, PTSD, Possibly Pre-Slash, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-30 05:49:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20809577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apliddell/pseuds/apliddell
Summary: Unfortunate decisions are made and then unmade.





	Less Time Than You Think

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Loudest_Subtext_in_Television](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loudest_Subtext_in_Television/gifts).

> After I saw Fleabag, I remarked to a friend that John Watson would fit very well into her universe, and my friend wholeheartedly agreed, so. Here we are. Blame Nattie for this.

Counseling again tra la la! Not a voucher this time. She’s a sort of PTSD specialist, which would be ghastly terrifying, except there’s this really fit guy who’s got the session before mine, so he comes out a few minutes before my go and hangs round the waiting room getting himself together before he leaves, and he sort of snorts and huffs and texts aggressively and honest to god talks to himself and it’s really quite alarming because we’re not meant to be that sort of nuts, and all I can think about is how to get my hot little hands on him. He’s. He’s really fit. He’s got like eerie blue eyes and wiffled up blonde hair like he’s been in the wind but it isn’t windy out today, and I’m specifically not thinking if he reminds me of anyone in particular and even if he did it wouldn’t matter because. No no nonono. Not doing that. Not.

Anyway. Fit mental guy. Shorter than me and I just know he’d be one of the ones who’s sort of pissed off about it but pretends to be into it. Suppose I might just sort of sidle up to him and say something like,  _ Good afternoon fellow sufferer I don’t suppose you’d like to throttle me to orgasm in a toilet cubicle? _ That’s coming on a bit strong, isn’t it? 

Sidle up anyway and blurt out, “Want to get a coffee?” Damn. Not very good. 

He looks up from his phone with the dregs of the tenderest expression on his face and sort of furrows like he’s not sure I was talking to him, “Sorry what?” 

Twiddle my fingers then decide it looks murdery and put my hands behind my back then decide that’s worse and just stuff them into my pockets, “You er. Difficult session? You look knackered. Want to get a coffee?” 

He frowns playfully and smooths one hand through his hair--this is going to be easier than I thought!-- “Knackered? I thought I was sort of having a good hair day.” 

Smile back, “Your hair looks great, actually.” 

He bounces his eyebrows and looks me over and oomf my knickers absolutely evaporate, “Thanks.” 

“So then,” shrug vaguely. “If you don’t need a coffee, maybe you’d just like to go back to yours.” 

His eyebrows shoot up into his rather lovely fringe. He looks down at his phone and then his watch and nods, “Yeah.” Licks his lips which kind of makes me want to smack him but in a good way, “I think I’ve got time for that.” 

“Lovely. Lead the way.” 

He stands, then frowns again a real sort of frown, “Hey, don’t you have er,” he nods toward Ella’s shut door. 

“Me? Oh, no. Just. Waiting for a friend. I’ll text her something came up,” pull out my phone and pretend to text. 

He watches me sort of suspiciously, “Are you erm. Lying?”

Whoops. Put my phone away, “Yeah, that okay?” 

“Yeah, let’s go.” 

…

He’s weirdly polite in the lift, like he’s not sure at what point the interaction is going to turn into rough sex with an absolute stranger. Stands sort of stiff with his hands clasped behind him. Quite disappointing. Was rather imagining we might take the opportunity to touch each other up a bit. Hope he’s not the sort who wants to be bossed around; not sure I’ve got the energy. A nice, solitary, ringing smack is one thing, but I simply cannot be arsed to don a little persona and think of sexy things to make him do at the moment. 

He gets a text when we’re nearly to the ground floor, and his face positively lights up. It’s kind of astounding, and it makes me desperately curious. He texts back slowly, looking the entire time as if he might laugh with delight. It’s quite awkward but also sort of funny. Don’t really fancy being the other woman, in fact I think I’ve sworn it off at some point or another.

“No offense,” I tell him as we step out of the lift. “I’m game if you are, but are you sure you’d not rather be fucking them?" Nod at his phone, "Or we can invite them along if you like!” Try and laugh carelessly, but he starts like he’d already forgotten me, then stuffs his phone away and huffs. 

“I’m not. That’s just my flatmate; why does everyone always ergh…” he shakes his head, grinds his teeth. 

Yikes! “Oh. Okay. Sorry. Just er. Trying to be jokey.” 

“Sorry, I’m being stupid. I’m always a bit in my head after er.” He shrugs then short of shakes his shoulders and his face shutters up so that it’s like naughty friendly the way it was upstairs, “I’m John by the way, don’t think I said.” 

He offers his hand to shake and I take it, “Lovely to meet you.” 

We pretend we don’t want to get a cab because neither of us have got any money, even though it’s sort of ergh and drizzly out. Pull out my little foldy up umbrella, and we don’t really fit under it together and it seems to make him decide it’d be appropriate to hold my hand. Bit forward. 

…

There is a sort of gorgeous alien waiting for us back at John’s, and it seems to make him quite cross. 

John whips off his jacket--doesn’t offer to take mine or even glance my way--and sort of flings it at a peg by the door, “What are  _ you _ doing here?”

“I live here,” says Gorgeous Alien and unsprawls himself from the chair he’s sprawled in to come and get a look at me. 

“You’ll be the one he’s not fucking then,” I say cheerfully when Gorgeous Alien and I are toe to toe. Gorgeous Alien sort of frowns. “Can’t think why,” I add politely and sincerely actually. “I’d be up for it.” 

Gorgeous Alien looks at John, “Guinea pigs?” Sort of makes my skin crawl. Maybe that’s why they’re not fucking. 

“Just one guinea pig at the moment,” I correct him for some reason.

“What?” says John vaguely. Then very intensely at Gorgeous Alien, “You’re meant to be at the morgue.” 

“I was at the morgue, but they let you leave if you’re not actually dead.” GA stretches luxuriantly and turns up the collar on his poncey dressing gown. He’s got my exact haircut. Think wildly of asking him if he also sees Anthony. “Don’t be too long, will you? We’re meant to go down and have tea with Mrs Hudson. Her niece is visiting, and she wants us to meet the baby.” He rolls his eyes and saunters back toward his chair. He’s got a really lovely bottom. 

John takes me and my wet jacket upstairs to his bedroom. Hurrah, now we’re getting somewhere! Gorgeous Alien is thoughtful enough to provide us with some incredibly loud strings music to camouflage ourselves in. They must have a really excellent sound system; I could swear the violin’s in the same room as us. Toss my jacket onto the floor, as there’s nowhere else but the bed. Kissing seems. Unduly daunting at the moment, so just sort of rugby tackle him onto his little bed and start in on his belt. He doesn’t seem to be hard yet, but am hoping that bodes well for his stamina. 

Pull him out of his jeans and work him with one hand while I get the other up under my skirt. Wrist cramp almost instantly and John’s still not getting hard, so I try both hands and then my mouth and. Nothing! Shame, really. It’s such a pretty cock. 

Flop to the side with a little sigh and push my fringe up out of my eyes, “You want to try? He doesn’t seem to like me.” 

“It’s not you,” John says angrily. “It’s the. Therapy. Always puts me in…” he trails off, but he’s successfully wanked himself about half hard, so I try my mouth again. Notice he’s covering his eyes with his arm. Flattering! He stays hard under my mouth though and even gets a bit harder, so get my hand back under my skirt and give myself a little going over, as clearly that is not on John’s agenda. 

“Got a condom?” I ask at the appropriate juncture. 

“Eh?” John digs in the drawer of his night table before I have to repeat myself and passes me a condom. 

“I’ll do it; I don’t mind,” cheerily. Tear the thing open and roll it on, then raise my skirt, straddle him, and it’s off to the races! Unbutton my top to give my tits an airing once I’m up there, but John sort of hugs me to him and hooks his chin over my shoulder. He leans placidly against me while I have a nice old bounce. John is absolutely still and almost entirely quiet, but for the occasional mournful sigh that really tickles my ear. It’s quite depressing. 

Stop bouncing, “You okay?” 

“Hmm?” says John in my ear, confused as if he’s forgotten me while he’s literally inside my body. “Yeah, fine.” 

Sigh and lift up reluctantly, “Right, okay. I don’t. This clearly isn’t working. I’m just gonna. I’ll just go.” John doesn’t argue, only sighs rather miserably. His erection has wilted away almost to nothing, and the condom slips off as soon as I’m on my feet and lands on the floor between us. 

Let out the most horrible bray of laughter, then clap my hand over my mouth and leave it there while I collect my jacket. John tucks himself away with an air of relief that makes me want to laugh again, except he also looks really sad and I feel quite ashamed of myself, though I’m not sure why.

Clear my throat at the door, “You should just tell him. Really. You’ve got less time than you think.” 

John scowls, “It’s not like that! He. He doesn't. It's not like that, all right!” 

Hold up my hands in surrender, “Okay, my mistake. Erm. Enjoy the baby.” Open the door, and John sits up hastily. 

“Wait, erm!” realise I’ve forgotten to tell him my name. Oh well, no matter now. 

Turn back to him, wondering how best to decline to give him my phone number, “Yes?”

“Your er.” He makes a wiggly sort of hand gesture, “your tits are still out.” 

“Thank you,” I put them away and descend into John’s kitchen with dignity. 

Gorgeous Alien is playing an actual factual violin in the lounge, and it’s going to implode my eardrums; it is the loudest sound that has ever been. Walk up behind him and tap him on the shoulder, and he startles theatrically and nearly beheads me with his bow. 

“I’m gay!” he says defensively. 

“Yes,” I agree. “Erm. He,” gesture with my thumb towards John’s bedroom. “He thinks you’re lovely, and he’s  _ really _ sexually frustrated at the moment, so if you’re interested…” bounce my eyebrows meaningly. Gorgeous Alien just looks alarmed. “It would make his whole year, I’m pretty sure. And.” Why do they both act like I’m the insane one? “You can meet the baby another time.” 

GA frowns, “Thank you.” 

“I’ll er. I’ll show myself out. Good luck.” He watches me out of the door, and I practically sprint away. Definitely going to need a new therapist. 

It isn’t until I’m on the bus and halfway home that I pat my pockets and realise I’ve left my new lippy on the floor in John’s bedroom. Fuck.


End file.
